


i heard a fly buzz

by Faisalliot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Death says "batshit" and its just as whiplashy as you're expecting, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Ghost Harry Potter, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is STUPID, Tom Riddle is A Stupid Fuck, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, and what about it, idk he's just very Spooky and its 100 percent because of the death thing., sorta....., will probably have gratuitous fucking at some point, yes the title is a reference to emily dickinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faisalliot/pseuds/Faisalliot
Summary: “I…” They paused for a moment, ignoring Harry’s somewhat hysterical and rapidly sharpening gaze. “Am who comes for the wicked, just as I come for the kind. I am what is impersonal, indiscriminate, inevitable.”You are a dramatic nutjob,Harry thought, grip tightening on his wand.And I'm two seconds away from launching you out of the fucking window.Or, in other words, Harry is the ""Master"" of Death and he's not super into it. He's making electronics go on the fritz, people keep getting scared of him because he doesn't make any footsteps, he floats at inopportune times, some kid named Danny isveryfreaked out by him, and all and all, it's an Experience. Capital E warranted.But hey, Fred’s alive. So. Not a total bust.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 47
Kudos: 320
Collections: Fics that I want to read once they are complete, Harry Potter, i have seen your heart and it is mine





	1. I heard a Fly buzz –

**Author's Note:**

> WHEN WE GET TO THE FUCKING, I'LL SPECIFY WHERE ITS AT. YOU DISGUSTING FUCKS.

When Harry had passed out curled between Ron and Hermione after the Battle ended and Voldemort laid dead at his feet, he’d expected to wake up feeling...okay, well, not _great,_ but, like, with the general aches, you know? Slight headache, sore throat from sleeping with his mouth parted, maybe Ron’s elbow in his ear again. Shit like that. 

He did not--let him reiterate--did _not_ anticipate waking up only to face down a gray-scale room that most certainly should _not_ be gray scale, much less a cold, rigid mattress and two equally rigid bodies, and like, you know, _the person hovering over his fucking face._

He’s proud to note that he didn’t scream. Loudly, at least. Moreover just coughed pretty hard. His hand shot down for his wand at the same time that he went to grab Ron’s arm, maybe shove Hermione with his knee because _what in the goddamn―_ but they didn’t move. He jerked, eyes flickering downwards, hand pausing midair in pursuit of his wand, and found himself latched onto what could only be described as statues. He looked between them, numbstruck, and the person floating over them, waiting anxiously for them to make a move―but they stayed still passively looking at him. He couldn’t make out their face beneath their rippling hood and frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck about what they looked like because what the _hell_ had they done to his friends?

”Um.” No, seriously, he was _really_ expecting an attack by now, so _if you could comply with that, that’d be awesome?_ “Hello?!”

But still, no response came. Still cautious, Harry took a gamble and quickly looked back down on what looked like Hermione just to get a second look because surely, _surely_ this wasn’t her. He flicked back up to the person after a moment, heart racing, but―still nothing.

He ran his hand down Hermione’s unyielding arm, breathing hard as the cold sapped into his palm. This wasn’t Hermione―couldn’t be Hermione. It was so hard to convince himself because everything about her statue was perfect, down to each kinky lock of hair, and―and he looked to Ron, noticing to his rising horror that every freckle on Ron’s body, down to that particularly large one behind his ear, was precisely placed. But it wasn’t them, could not, _would_ not be them because Ron and Hermione were _alive, warm, soft―_

”They’re fine.” His eyes shot back to the intruder, and something like a shiver raced up his spine at the cadence of their voice.

It didn’t sound right.

He swallowed dryly. “What?” 

”Your friends. They’re fine. Just frozen, for now―not hurt. When we’re done, they’ll be normal again.” Something dark flitted in the corner of Harry’s eyes―not hair. Didn’t move like it.

Harry blinked. Blinked again. Maybe a third time, he wasn’t sure anymore. _“What.”_

The person seemed to give up on their endeavor of hovering ominously over him, and sunk down to the flagstone floor of his old Gryffindor dorm much like a feather would flutter listlessly to a yellow field of grass. Unnoticeable, forgettable. But Harry watched raptly, tense and alert from the ripple of their robe and the gentle scrape of their not-hair on the stonework. 

”Who are you?” He asked in that one dangerous, quiet tone, pointedly not looking at his friends and finally remembering to reach down and wrap his hand around the wood of his wand.

They said nothing for a long while, as if ruminating over how to respond, and just when Harry was about to drop the niceties and demand for an answer, they said,

”What can you tell me about the Peverell brothers, son?”

Harry stared down at them for a handful of heartbeats, thrown off. “I―the three brothers?”

“Yes,” They said warmly. “Those three.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling foolishly like a fish before frustration mounted and he whipped out his wand, throwing his other arm over Ron’s prone body and leaning over Hermione to snap, “I’m not here to do a _fucking_ mind-game right now, that―that has _nothing_ to do with what I just asked you! Tell me who you are _now,_ or―!”

But they interrupted to say, in a _ridiculously_ put-out tone of voice, “Well, now that isn’t the right wand at all, is it?” 

This person had a _real_ talent for throwing curveballs.

”Here I was, hoping you’d be using the wand I went through all that trouble of making so pretty, but alas.” Harry got an incredibly strong Dumbledore vibe from that and narrowed his eyes incredulously. _What?_

Harry just barely refrained from sputtering―it was a very near thing―and looked down at them helplessly, once again tossed belly-up by their comment. He didn’t even dignify it with a response this time, just made a “why” gesture and sighed, still refusing to lower his wand. And it was the _right_ wand, dammit. He didn’t know what the hell they meant by “”wrong”” wand and he wasn’t about to entertain it. 

”Pointing that... _stick_ at me, you remind me so very much of Ignotus’s brother, you know. Cadmus. Such a fighty lad.” They tilted their head after a moment though, and then added in their strange, not-right voice, “Or perhaps not. No. Much more like Ignotus himself. Just more cautious.” It seemed that their head turned to gaze out of the window. “Not too hard to surmise why.”

“You,” Harry shook his head slowly. “Are making _no_ goddamn sense.”

“And you,” They mimicked Harry’s tone, the bastard. “are a little too young to already be damning me.”

Harry stopped short.

It took a _hot_ second to unpack that, but Harry almost immediately snorted. “Oh, you’re _God?_ So sorry for my impertinence, my lord. Fucking amen.”

He could almost physically feel the weight of their frown on him. “I am the closest thing there is to God, boy.” They said quietly. And seriously. Much too seriously.

Alright, so, they were officially crazy, and this was officially _fine._ As in “dog-in-a-burning-room” fine. Because Harry was in a room with a crazy person and two frozen best friends who were _apparently_ fine but now had a good chance of _not_ being fine. This was _fun._

_I just got murdered yesterday and then murdered the perp myself, world. Are you physically capable of giving me a break?_

“I…” They paused for a moment, ignoring Harry’s somewhat hysterical and rapidly sharpening gaze. “Am who comes for the wicked, just as I come for the kind. I am what is impersonal, indiscriminate, inevitable.”

 _You are a dramatic nutjob,_ Harry thought, grip tightening on his wand. _And I'm two seconds away from launching you out of the fucking window_. He nearly laughed, not a happy laugh, a hysteric one, but it died in his throat as he glanced at the wall.

Because the shadows were moving. 

It was like every inch of wind in his sails was immediately blown through the fabric. He quickly glanced back at the intruder, and his breath caught in his throat. Their clothes were wavering on the ground, a soft susurration of sheer blackness on the wood of the bed. They seemed to grow closer to him, as if they were moving though he could tell they were not, and that was when _it_ hit him. A chill, a gelid breath welling up inside of Harry, ghosting the hairs on the back of his neck. But it wasn't fear. An understanding, more like―one that did not belong to him, one that he could hardly comprehend. It didn’t feel good. Not at first. The skin on his shoulders began to prickle.

“It is I who stands before the greedy, the false and mortal who crave power, and it is I who stands before the kind, the gentle, the genuine." They intoned, causing tremors to swick down Harry's arms. "I am the end of a chapter, the mulch of the earth by which your bodies return, a cold caress, a face you have been taught again and again to despise, to hate, and to fear.”

The shadows encroached around them, curling blissfully cold around his body that which Harry didn’t know was too hot until then, and a strange calm settled in his chest. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Moody, Fred, Lily, James, Remus, all the faces he had loved and lost, they came swimming to mind. “I am painless. I am numbing. I am the ultimate rest, the ultimate relief, and the ultimate peace." He could hear Hedwig hooting in his ears, chirping happily at him, and in the corner of his mind he could hear a thrumming, looping whisper of his name, curled out of familiar voices. Their hood tilted back to reveal a void, and they said, voice rattling the very marrow of Harry’s bones,

“I am Death, Harry.”

And Harry, heart pounding frantically in his chest, looked at Death and believed them.

“And you, my boy, are the one who has thrice defied _me_.”

Harry’s heart thudded to a halt and after a moment he breathed out, long and hard. “That’s...fucking _great.”_ And by ‘great’ he meant the literal last thing he wanted to deal with right now. “Do you think you could’ve skipped the whole soliloquy and just _told_ me that you were Death? And I...what, that I’m the _master_ of you, or…?” He asked weakly, sagging back into the bed and staving off frustrated tears. 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say _master,_ son.” There was definitely mirth in this asshole’s voice. “An equal, though? Certainly.”

“Oh, _fuck_ off.”

“Not yet. Not until you know.”

“Know _what?”_

“Just what you are, of course.” They said softly. “Harry, I understand you’re not very pleased at the moment and that you’re not _going_ to be pleased, but it’s very important that you’re made aware of a few things, lest they crop up later and there’s some...unpleasantness. Sit tight―since you’re so insistent, I’ll make this brief.”

Harry had very strong doubts about this, but said nothing. 

“Your many-time grandfather, Ignotus, was one of the three brothers who I first entertained a very, very long time ago. All the way back when I was still marvelling at you humans and playing petty games. Your grandfather, in particular, is one of the very few who I’ve ever found particularly impressive. It was to him, and his brothers that I granted my artifacts―” And Death swirled their hand in the air, and through the shade of their palm came the stone Harry had dropped into the forest, and the wand he’d unceremoniously snapped and thrown into the lake, and his own cloak. He almost gasped at the sight of them, and hurriedly tugged his cloak to himself. 

“Yes, Ignotus favored that one as well. Such a clever man, and a...dear friend of mine.” He picked up on a wisp of sadness in their tone. “He rests now, easily, and I could find him again if I so wished, reconstruct him, but...he wouldn’t want it. He wanted to sleep.”

“And you let him…?”

The hood of their head tilted towards him. “Not even I could hold him forever, not without guilt.” They laughed, the sound of it mournful, and then the stone floated between them. “There was a time I never understood the insidiousness of this stone, you know. I knew the sight of a loved one suffering so close to reach but just barely out of it would be horrible enough to die for, but I never _knew.”_

A ringing sadness began to swell in the room, and tears came rising to Harry’s eyes for what felt like the first time in years. His chest felt heavy, his hands cold, his head numb. An unfathomable mourning, thousands of years of grief, all of it fell upon Harry at once, threatening his already tenuous grip on his own emotions.

“Not until it happened to me.” Death said stiffly. “My own curse. Watching Ignotus fade like that...lose his spark...descend into that horrible stillness...I understood just what I put Antioch through and I...do regret that.”

Then they paused. Their stance went rigid. 

“But that doesn’t matter. Does it?” At once, the sadness in the room sucked away, leaving Harry gasping. “No...what happens is _you._ Just as your grandfather, you’ve come to acquire my artifacts. All three. And their power has rubbed off on _you._ You, Harry Potter, are now my equal. Immortal, timeless, indiscriminate, not alive nor dead. You _are_ Death, just as much as you are life.”

A cold sort of terror washed down Harry’s back and he froze, processing.

Immortal?

_Death?_

“Immortal?” He croaked numbly.

The same, pervading sadness seemed to creep back into Harry’s peripherals before it dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared. “For as long as you wish to be.”

Harry stared, breath picking up.

“No, _no―_ I―” Harry began to shake his head, looking helplessly back down on the rigid form of his friends. “I didn’t _want_ this, I―”

“No one wants this, Harry, not at first.” Death said lowly, floating closer to him. 

Sticky, heaving anger sparked to life in Harry’s chest and he nearly threw his cloak away from him. “Then _why_ would you―?!”

“Think of it. Unlimited power. No need to sleep, eat, or drink, but nothing stopping you from doing it.” Their voice was suddenly insistent―almost _desperate―_ and they loomed ever-closer. Harry shoved his back into the headboard of the bed. “No sickness, no hunger, no thirst, no ageing and none of the pain that comes with it. Everything you can change, every _one_ you can save. The things you can see, the knowledge you can find, the _time_ you may wander through. The limitlessness of a _God.”_

Harry stared at death, uncomprehendingly horrified by the very notion. The terror and the rage did not leave him―it only mounted. No drive to eat or drink or sleep would make him a _freak,_ make him _less than human,_ power only corrupted, only _killed,_ and all the time he’d spend, never changing, never _growing,_ just watching in mute horror as _everyone_ he had left aged, wondered _why_ he wasn’t, and left him, inevitably left him _behind_ , no, no, _no._ A God―a _God―_

“Take this off of me.” He could hardly hear himself through the ringing in his ears. Death did not move, and he exhaled sharply. _“Take. this. OFF of me!”_

“I can’t.”

Harry felt dizzy. He slowly rose upright, and, voice trembling, he _screamed―_ “What do you _MEAN_ _YOU CAN’T!?_ ” The tears from before came rushing back in the wake of the indiscriminate _anguish_ that backed his words. “ _YOU_ DID THIS TO ME―YOU―” He sputtered, trying desperately hard to find the words that could ever give justice to the horror within him. “YOU’VE TAKEN _SO MUCH_ FROM ME, WHY _CAN’T_ YOU―” He seized the stone from midair and _hurled_ it at Death, chest heaving and cheeks burning. “I’VE HAD _ENOUGH,_ GODDAMMIT―I’VE HAD _ENOUGH!”_ He threw the cloak off of him, flung the wand to the darkness of the room, and leapt from the bed, over Ron and Hermione’s frozen, sleeping bodies and seized the books on the bedside table, the shoes on the ground, the knick knacks on the desks, and began to throw them as if it would make him hurt less. “WHY―CAN’T―YOU―JUST―LET―ME― _REST!?”_

He noticed, to his incredible frustration, that nothing was hitting Death, and so he threw them harder. Half-filled goblets shattered on the stonework, posters and pictures came fwapping to his feet, books crashed and tore at his feet, and it seemed as though the room came alive in a personification of his own anger. The windows began to crackle and pop, glass spider-webbing upwards into long cracks. And Death stood there, unaffected and unmoving. 

Gradually, he began to lose the fight in him just as quickly as it had flared to life and once the last book was thrown and the room was in disarray, Harry stood there for a moment, trembling. He looked blankly at the mess he’d made and breathed out, slow and shaky. Death still had not moved at all. He was reminded at once of how he’d acted in Dumbledore’s office just two years ago and felt a horrible sort of despair rise up inside of him. Nothing had changed. He still felt―he still _was―_

He looked helplessly at the torn apart dorm and, voice catching on a ragged, _exhausted_ sob, he said into the ringing silence, “I’m so _tired.”_

It was like the admission was an anvil that came crashing down on him, because right then and there, the last modicum of control he had left him and he slowly sunk down into the wreckage on the floor. He hiccuped once, shaking terrible, and then buried his face into his hands and _heaved._ His shoulders didn’t seem to want to stop rattling and he made such disgusting sounds but he just couldn’t _stop._ A strange, cold breeze came towards him. 

“I...knew this would happen,” Their voice came floating into his ears, soft and sad. “But you _must_ understand, I didn’t tell you this to hurt you, Harry.” A skeletal hand carded through his hair and he nearly pressed into it, desperate for the slightest sliver of comfort. “You’ll be alright, son. Just...for now, you may rest. This can wait. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Harry damn near sobbed at that, but before he could, an odd warmth rippled through his hair and within moments, he was down, left with just a fleeting memory of brittle, cold arms tugging him upwards before he knew no more.

* * *

Next thing Harry knew, he was waking up and feeling incredibly heavy, for the lack of a better word.

He shifted in the warmth of the sheets, stretching with a yawn that served no purpose other to make him more tired, and he craned his left arm out to crack the elbow and―

―Nudged Ron hard enough to send him toppling off the bed.

There was an almighty thump, and then a quickly-following, "What the FUCK, Harry?!"

Harry's heart stopped in his chest and he lurched over the end of the bed to seize Ron's arm. It was warm, and gave way beneath his grip. He was _here_ , he was _fine,_ not hard and cold, and―and all of that was...just…

Harry stopped dead.

The stone and the wand were on his bedside table, rested on his cloak and nestled next to his glasses.

He looked at them, processing for a moment. And Harry had two thoughts. _Holy fucking shit, I can see_ , and then, _oh fuck me. That was real._

He was so busy reeling over this he barely noticed Hermione shifted until she was shaking his shoulder, hair tickling his cheek as she asked, "Harry? What's wrong? Why do you have a death grip on Ron?"

"I met Death last night." He blurted after a moment, still holding on to Ron. "And I don't need my glasses, apparently."

Ron looked at him. Harry looked at Ron. Ron looked over his shoulder at Hermione.

"Alright, mate." Ron said after a second, slowly getting up. "C'mon, now, let's just go back to bed, it's like―" He looked to the side, and then did a double-take. "What in the _goddamn―_ was the room this wrecked when we came in?"

Harry looked over the mess of the room himself. _Oh, I see how it is, Death can put their artifacts all neat and pretty on my table, but can't clean a fucking room?_ and almost laughed out loud, more out of hysteria than anything.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Fffuuuccckkk.

And then he actually started laughing. "I..." He turned and buried his face into Hermione's chest, still laughing uncontrollably. "am at my _fucking_ limit."

Ron and Hermione didn't say anything, but he was 100% sure that they were exchanging a Look over his head. The bed dipped behind him and a pasty arm slid over his waist just as a warmth settled at his back. He managed to reign himself in and laid silently between his best friends for a while, trying to pull himself together fully.

"Yeah...the clock on the floor over there says it's around five in the mornin...so thanks for that, Harry. We'll go down in...er...a couple hours to, y'know..." Ron's voice went stiff and throaty, and Harry froze.

Fred was dead. Ron's brother was fucking _dead_ and here was Harry, acting like a drama queen. Jesus _Christ._

But then it hit him.

Fred was _dead_ ...but Harry was, _apparently_ , Death's equal. He _was_ Death.

And...Death said that they could pull Ignotus back together...if they so wished.

Ooh. Harry had an idea. A bad idea, which meant it was a great one.

Harry all but wrestled out of Ron and Hermione's tender grip with the zest of a man possessed and just about vaulted over the latter to stand on the floor, nearly sending himself sprawling in the process.

And into the empty dorm room, he _screamed,_ **_"DEATH!"_**

And when that yielded nothing, he tacked on a hasty, frustrated, "GET YOUR OMINOUS ARSE OUT HERE, I NEED TO KNOW SOMETHING!"

"Harry, _what―?”_

But before Ron could finish his thought, an almighty blast of cold rushed through the room and sent frost racing up the―still cracked― window panes. Shadows seemed to swallow the room, and within moments, the black mass called Death once more appeared before Harry.

...And Hermione. And Ron.


	2. -When i Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Forgot about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't force Aspen to edit this one unfortunately because I was NOT about to make them sit their ass down and look through THREE chapters lmaooooo.

There was stunned silence for a moment, barely a blink, before Ron let out an impressively high-pitched, blood-curdling scream and dove to the other side of the bed. Hermione was slightly less swift and stared for a moment, processing―before she shocked the hell out of Harry by whipping out her wand and sending hexes and curses flying with _incredible_ speed.

Lights ping-ponged around the room at rapid-fire pace, barely missing him, and Harry could do little more than gape at her. 

Hermione was trying to curse _Death._

That should not have been nearly as jarring as it was. 

He watched in utter astoundment as the stonework was blasted, structures imploded, and tapestries were shredded in the face of Hermione's spellfire abuse, and Death stood, mute and watching, and Harry got ahold of himself and frantically turned towards Ron and Hermione to try to get control of the situation.

 _What the hell is wrong with my friends,_ Harry thought, turning to look at Ron for help (who was still screaming).

Like, _screaming._

Ron was _howling_ from behind the bed, "WHAT THE FUCK, _WHAT THE F―"_

"Ron―" Harry was trying _very_ hard to muster up more concern, but couldn’t quite―

"―HARRY _WHAT THE FUCK_ ―"

This was spiralling out of control very quickly. Harry held his hands out, trying to bring a sense of calm to this whole debacle. This was very difficult when _stupefy_ went whizzing past his left ear. 

"―Ron, could you _please―"_

Was that―was that a _rock?_ Well, _that_ almost took his shoulder out. Holy fuck, Hermione.

"―YOU SAID YOU MET _DEATH,_ BUT I―I DIDN'T THINK YOU WERE _SERIOUS,”_

"―CLEARLY HE WAS, NOW _SHUT UP!”_ Hermione had decided that now was the time to start screaming too. Joy. "BOMBARDA _, STUPEFY, PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_ ―STOP SCREAMING AND _HELP, DAMMIT_ , **CRUCIO!”**

Harry stopped _dead_ (hah) stared at her incredulously. 

What the _hell._

"Cruc―Crucio?" He said numbly, almost impressed with her balls before he shook his head in disbelief, "Hermione, you are LITERALLY trying to beat the shit out of Death, I―!"

Something in her eyes changed, and her face flickered before she roared, **_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ **

Oh, now THAT got a reaction out of Harry.

"HOLY _FUCKING―"_ Harry dove out of the way of the green light and seized a pillow, launching it at Hermione just to make her _stop._ It hit her full in the face and she made a weird noise as it did. 

And then, almost belatedly, Death tumbled to the floor.

Harry stopped mid-motion and stared, uncomprehending, and exchanged a look with his friends. 

They looked just as freaked out as him. That didn’t bode well. 

Slowly, carefully, Harry approached Death’s fallen body. “O-Oi…” He prodded their bony side with his foot. No response.

What the fuck? What the _fuck?_

The room fell into incredulous silence, and Harry gaped at Hermione, absolutely dumbfounded. The ringing quiet persisted for a very, _very_ long moment, only punctuated by their collective respiratory noises. Harry was breathing hard, Hermione was _heaving,_ and Ron looked about two seconds away from passing out.

“Oh my god,” Hermione said after a moment, wand held slack. “I’ve killed Death.”

Harry looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at Death. Harry looked at Death. 

So. This was going great.

"Hermione, what the _fuck."_ Ron literally had his hand over his chest, completely scandalized just as much as sort of...aroused? Oh, ew.

“Well, aren’t you going to reap me, Harry?” Harry _screamed_ as Death suddenly jerked upright. “Oh, wait, that’s still my job.” Harry gaped at them, trying desperately hard not to fall backwards, and could only shake his head in disbelief as Death began to laugh, voice crackling and off. "You should’ve seen the look on your face, son.” A solid twenty seconds came and passed, and when no one spoke, Death tacked on, "Now I just feel awkward. Not even going to apologize for killing me? Goodness gracious, Harry, your friends are batshit crazy."

Harry saw the moment the whiplash of Death's unnatural voice and words fully hit his friends and made a strange, deranged sort of snorting noise.

"In all seriousness, though, what did you need, son?"

Harry noticed Ron mouthing 'son' in his peripherals and felt his cheeks prickle slightly. "You, er..." He looked back at the same friend, suddenly unsure if he ought to ask this in front of him. “Well. Hermione just tried to kill you after one look.” 

“Yes, she did. Spitting good attempt, too.”

Suddenly, it did not seem wise to broach this question in front of Hermione, either. Pressing his lips into a line, Harry looked at Death, and asked sheepishly, "Could you...freeze them, first?"

He was _not_ about to incite Hermione to start screaming Unforgivables again, thanks.

"Hey, wait, don't do―"

But before either of them could get a word in edgewise, with a simple wave of their hand Hermione was left with an incomplete sentence as both Ron and Hermione both went rigid and the expressions froze on their faces.

God, that looked really fucking weird. 

But, uh. Probably for the best. Clearly, they were not quite ready to face down _Death._ Ha...haha….

It took him a hot minute, but Harry managed to scrounge up a couple braincells and gather just enough wit to force out, "Er...just a bit ago, you said that...if you _really_ wanted to, you could, er, reconstruct Ignotus.” Oh man, this was already sounding sheepish to him and he hadn’t even finished yet. “And you...well, you said I was your equal, so by proxy...shouldn't I be able to do that?"

Death went very still, if that was possible. Their cloak did warble quite a bit, after all.

The air hung between them, frigid, before Death said, very slowly,

"You could...but you should know, and know well, Harry...that could have _extreme_ ramifications."

Harry's heart sunk like a stone in his chest and he forced down the growing knot in his throat. _‘You expected this, dammit, don’t get upset.’_

"Like what?" He asked quietly, already preparing to accept the inevitable ‘no’.

"Well, first and foremost, they need a host body. It would reform in their likeness, of course, but, it’s not always comfortable if the body wasn’t originally their body, for starters…” Death trailed off, and said nothing for a while longer before continuing, rather lowly, “Harry, you must acknowledge that...if they've been dead for a very long time, they won't be quite...right. Not in that "I'm going to murder you" way, but just...odd. Death leaves its mark on you, and it deepens the longer it's there. And of course, all the problems that arise. If you're not careful, if _they’re_ not careful, you know as well as I that humans can be incredibly cruel. Things can be _done_ to them. And there's moments that they may forget that they're alive, or that they have to eat, drink, or exist. Sound, sensation, the longer they've been _gone,_ it can be so much. _Too_ much. You can't guarantee that they don't want to _stay_ dead."

Death placed their skeletal hand on his shoulder and said, very gently. "That doesn't mean you can't visit them, though. By all means, you are welcome to wake Lily or James in the Plains and spend some time with them. You have that choice, and that time."

Harry blinked.

"My...?"

Holy _shit._

"I could see my parents?" He whispered, voice strangled and heart thudding hard in his chest.

"Is that...not why you were asking me that?"

Harry shook his head vigorously and for a tad too long. "No, _no,_ I wanted―I wanted to retrieve _Fred,_ he's only―he's only been gone a few hours at most and he didn't _deserve_ to die, and―and it's just―I _can?_ I can _do_ that?"

Harry's heart thudded hard in his chest. He hadn't dared hope for something like this, but if it was true, he could―!

Death was silent for a very long time, and then began to chuckle. "You are the _strangest_ human I've ever met.” And wasn’t that the truth? Almost guiltily, Harry realized that his parents hadn’t even crossed his mind for this. Just Fred. “I'm so happy you're here. But," Death grew serious. "is this really what you want?"

"Yes." Harry said immediately, and meant it. And then, what if― "What if I don't want to just stop at Fred? Could I―could I bring back everyone we've lost last night? Just from last night? We've just―we've lost, _I’ve_ lost so much, and I―"

Death did not respond for a long while, but soon enough, they said, strangely quiet. "I see that I could not stop you if I tried. They’ve only been dead a few hours, then? Very well. I am willing to part with their souls―they’ll all come back in the end. I will not do this for you, though. You must go yourself."

"How?"

Death waved their hand once more, and it was like a distortion of the very air materialized before them, a yawning blackness that threatened to swallow the room. "Through here. Call for them, _feel_ for them, and if they permit it, bring them home. This is the only counsel I shall offer you. Go, now. Do what you must. I will look the other way, just this once."

Harry looked into the abyss before him and the faint pricks of light within, and nodded once. "Thank you," He said, and stepped forward.

It was impersonally cold as he stepped inside of what Death called the Plains, impersonal as a raindrop that hit your cheek or a leather salon chair on the back of your thighs. It was odd―perhaps a bit disorienting, too. He could feel his own pulse thrumming rapidly under his wrist as he stepped inside, echoing strangely in the world around him, as if it knew it did not belong. The hole closed behind him, and perhaps for a moment Harry was frightened, but the feeling quickly evaporated. 

Harry got the strangest impression of Hogwarts, actually. Not the Hogwarts he'd been in moments ago, but something older. Like a friend he'd forgotten, or...oh. Oh. Home.

Harry felt like he was home.

How strange―and how nice. He took a step in the grass, felt the way it curled between his toes as if to say _"Hello, there, good to see you again"_ and couldn't suppress a tiny smile. This was a good place, he thought. Very peaceful―a good place to sleep.

"Hello," He said to no one in particular, heard it back, and walked ahead.

If you were to ask Harry how to describe where he was now, he would have quite the difficult time indeed. It'd take awhile, but he'd scrounge up this: it was like peace personified. The grass between your feet was always soft and cool, maybe a little damp with morning dew, but it was not morning. It was dark, actually―dark like a ballroom, or a library at night, or a movie theatre. And it smelled nice too―clean, and earthy. So very crisp, and pleasantly cool.

But the best part was the lights.

Now, he used the word "lights" loosely. Don't think of lightbulbs, or the sun, or the stars, or glowsticks, even. Think...fireflies. Think of the flash orbs you see in poor photographs, think of the glowing pinpricks of city lights from a distance. Now think of those, but slightly bigger. That's what Harry saw.

They were friendly, too. The first he approached was almost tangibly curious, and bopped right over to him to swirl around him, as if to say _"well, who are you?"_

"I'm Harry," He said lowly, patting the top of it, which sent pleasant, warm tingles jittering up his arm. "Have you seen Fred?"

The light made a strange, humming buzz and swirled around him once, twice, thrice, and suddenly, Harry was looking at a person. Well, not quite―it was a person alright, but they were still glowing, still floating. It was a woman, he realized, and her hair was swirling in the air as if she were underwater. She smiled at him pleasantly, and after a moment, said, 

"I've not a clue who Fred is. Have you called for him? He may be dreaming elsewhere."

"Well, no," Harry said, frowning slightly. "I've only just arrived, see. Do I just call his name? And he'll come?"

The woman tilted her head thoughtfully. "Yes, but he won't come. You'll need to find him, but it'll be easy, once you've said his name. Go on, go find him. I'm going to visit Lucretia's dream. Ta," And with a blink, she was gone, drifting back into her light and winking away, disappearing amongst the rest.

Well, that was as good as an explanation as he could've hoped for. Trusting that he'd know what she meant, Harry looked around, lips twitching as his hair moved strangely to curl around his forehead―he'd not noticed it'd been doing that―and called out, very quietly,

"Fred?"

At once, it was like there was a hook in his navel, similar to a Portkey but not nearly as strong, and intuitively Harry knew that he had to go left. "Ah," He said aloud, raising his hand to pat some lights as he passed, murmuring apologies. "Alright, then."

One foot, two foot. Harry did not think, and did not question himself as his body carried him forward. It was almost weightless, in a way. Step one, step two. It was similar to water, he thought, but it wasn't heavy like it. It could've been likened to humidity, perhaps, though not quite as unpleasant. It was nice, actually. Lights curled around him, spritzing loftily over his shoulders and winding between his walking feet like cats. He smiled, batting at one that touched base on his cheek, and shooed it behind him.

"Come on, now, don't trip me up," He murmured through a content sigh, catching a glimpse of a young, masculine face in his peripherals. "I've got to find Fred. He's this way, if you're all insistent on coming along."

He could hear voices whispering, but it wasn't frightening―just reminded him of an auditorium, if anything. He caught a snippet of something about nutcrackers and another, completely unrelated one that pertained to chickens, and he scrunched his eyebrows, tuning it out. Dead people liked to talk about very strange things, it seemed.

Suddenly, Harry stopped. There was a light ahead of him now, mere paces away, and somehow it seemed that it was shining brighter than the rest.

"...Fred?"

Slowly, the light came bumbling over, sluggish and confused, and Harry did not speak. The other lights around him seemed to withdraw, as if recognizing the sudden seriousness, and there was an awful tightness in Harry's chest as he sunk to his knees, and held out his arms. 

"Come here," He whispered, palms up. "Please."

Slowly, Harry reached to let his hands curled around Fred's light, and softly cupped his form. A strange, familiar warmth raced up Harry's arms. He got an insistent urge to close his eyes, so after a moment of deliberation, he did. At once, there was a strange, gnawing sensation of drifting, like he was under a featherlight charm and floating down a steep hill, and when Harry opened his eyes again, he was no longer in The Plains.

It took awhile for him to register where he was, but that was more because it took awhile to form at all. He took a breath, and then another. Felt the air swirling in his lungs. Fingers, toes, arms, legs, his body. It returned to him, suspended in gravity. In a long, immortal dream. In the words on a page. His name changed, time and time again. An endless song, a strained breath. He was nothing that he was. He was everything that he was not.

And then he was back. He was Harry. Just Harry. Just Harry watched in mute fascination as the world around him formed an exact copy of what he recognized as Fred and George's bedroom. Down to the scorch marks on the ceiling, the gouges underneath the Quidditch poster, and the familiar, floral scent of the Burrow. Harry's eyes stung at the sight of it, thrown headfirst into an aching, longing nostalgia, and hoped for a moment that he was really there. Then he turned, and he saw them.

Fred and George, curled up as if they belonged together on one of the dingy twin beds. His throat grew tight at the sight of them both―he hadn't realized how jarring it was to see them apart at all until he saw them together again. They were both breathing deeply, eyes closed, and they looked so peaceful.

George made one of those weird, snuffling snores that he did was he was having a weird dream, and Harry smiled at it despite himself. He crept towards the bed and slowly leant down to his knees, deciding to give them both a moment to rest a bit longer. He didn't particularly want to wake them because he wasn’t in any rush, but he didn't want to spend forever dreaming, either. He just kind of looked at them for a while, greedily drinking in the sight of their twin faces. They were family. And he was going to bring them back together.

As if sensing his thoughts, Fred curled imperceptibly close to his brother and Harry reached over to tug the hair off his neck (he was pretty sure Fred hated that sensation) and then, after a moment’s hesitation, placed his hand on Fred's shoulder. "Oi,” He mumbled, shaking him softly but insistently. “Wake up, you prick. I'm…” Well. What _was_ he doing? “I’m here to take you home." Harry said suddenly, looking askance. 

Fred breathed in deeply, nose scrunching like it always did when he didn't want to get up, and he muttered, "Ge'rrof, Harrykins...'m already there."

Harry's heart sunk like a stone in his chest, overcome with a wave of misery and guilt, and he had to forcibly stamp down the tears threatening to prick his eyes. "Not yet, mate." He said tightly, voice trying exceptionally hard to quaver despite his best efforts.

"What do you mean, I'm not? George is right―" Fred stopped suddenly, and something in his face flickered awfully. 

Nothing was said for a very, very long moment, but Harry watched as Fred’s eyes slowly opened, and did nothing to stop him from sitting up. 

Fred looked down at himself. "...Oh." And he sounded so dismayed, so quietly anguished that Harry had to breathe deeply.

Throat clogging up, Harry could hardly do a thing but nod jerkily. "I know," He forcibly choked out, chest trying to give out on him. "I'm sorry, I really am, but I...I'm taking you home now, you understand? You're not staying like this, I _promise,_ I―"

Fred lifted his head to look at him, and then back down at George, and his expression was so rattlingly miserable that Harry could hardly force out another word. "Harry, you're not dead too, are you? You didn't―" His voice raised suddenly, childishly afraid.

Harry shook his head so forcefully and frantically he was almost surprised it didn't fly off entirely. "No, but I'm _here_ , I mean it, and you don't―" Harry looked at George, who was still fast asleep and red-eyed. "I'm taking you back, okay? It wasn't time, I'm not _letting_ that be your time. Just," He held out his hand and tried to stop it from shaking. "Come here."

“Harry, that’s not how Death _works―”_ Fred looked like he was trying desperately hard to make a joke out of this, but his smile shook and Harry reached out insistently. 

“Yes, it _does,_ because I said so. Come _on,_ just―”

“―Harry, I’m _dead!”_ Fred shouted suddenly, and it was so unlike him that Harry froze. “And―And _you’re_ dead too, goddammit, we’re not going anywhere, and―and if I want to stay by my _brother―”_ His voice cracked then, having already been brittle from the start, the angry flush in his cheeks worsened and, to Harry’s complete and abject horror, he.

Well. 

He began to cry. 

Harry could do little more than sit there and _gape_ for a moment, having never anticipated nor thought Fred would be able to do such a thing. George, perhaps, but Fred? Never. “O-Oi…” He croaked feebly, eyes welling up to in response to what he was seeing. “C’mon, Fred, don’t...oh, fucking fuck.” Harry rose to his feet and leant on the bed with his thigh, throwing an arm around Fred and clenching his jaw to keep himself together. 

Fred tried to crack a joke, but all that really cracked was his voice when he said, “Never heard you say ‘fuck’.”

“First time for everything,” Harry muttered roughly, and squeezed Fred’s shoulder. “Knock off the crying thing or I’ll do it too, and that’d suck.” He peered over at George as he spoke, vaguely worried about him being awake and watching this debacle, and then marvelled at how heavy of a sleeper George was.

Fred did nothing but heave a gross-sounding sob in response, which Harry would’ve hit him for if the sound hadn’t hurt so goddamn bad to hear. Harry bit his lip and just kind of let him cry it out, feeling very much out of his depth but still trying to do the best he could to proffer some sort of comfort. And it seemed to work for the most part: Fred quieted eventually and just sniffled, refusing to look up at him and instead staring sullenly at the bed.

“That sounded like slam poetry,” Fred rasped after a beat, leaning a bit more heavily into Harry. 

... _What?_

The question must’ve shown up on his face, because Fred huffed a painful-sounding laugh and said, “Earlier. You said “fucking fuck” and the next sentence you said “suck”.”

Okay, actually, he had a point that, but Harry blinked. “Why the _hell_ do you know what slam poetry is? And-And no, those just sounded like words you’d see in Mrs. Weasley’s romance novels.”

“And why would you know _that?”_

Shit. _Shit_. “Don’t answer a question with a question.” Harry said shortly, avoiding answering. 

Fred began to laugh, though, which was an unintended but much wanted side-effect. “You’re _stalling.”_

“So are _you!”_

“No, _you.”_

 _That_ just wound up devolving into a pointless squabbling match over “no, you”’s and other petty insults until Fred’s face lost its red blotches and Harry was fighting the urge to hold him in a headlock. Somehow Fred pulled away during this and Harry fixed him with a look once it died down. Fred looked askance, back at George, and as he looked over his red-rimmed eyes, Harry’s chest knotted up.

“Fred, for the love of God, I just want to take you _home,”_

The smile winked out of Fred’s lip and his eyes narrowed in that one dangerous way they did when he was chucking gnomes. “Harry, we’re _dead.”_ He said firmly, and they sat in charged silence for a moment.

“No,” Harry said, equally firm, “ _You’re_ dead, _I’m_ not. And I’m trying to make you, er, _not_ dead.”

“Oh yeah? And how are you _not_ dead, if you’re here?”

Harry sighed, trying to think of how on Earth he was going to convince Fred of this, and after a moment passed he proffered lamely, “I’m the Master of Death.”

Fred blinked at him. 

“Merlin’s balls,” He muttered, shaking his head. 

“No, no, I know how that sounds, it was crazy, I _literally_ died but I got all the Deathly Hallows so Death became like...they’re my mate now, y’know?” This sounded, in the words of Death, completely batshit, even to him. “And apparently I’ve got all sorts of freaky ghost powers in the works and-and I can come here, to the Plains―er, that’s what this place is called by the way―and―”

“Percy was _right,_ you _are_ crazy.” Fred coughed out a laugh, hiding his face in his hands. “I thought he was full of it all this time, but―”

“See, you say that _now.”_ Harry muttered quickly, and awkwardly frisking a hand through his hair. “Just―if nothing else, _humor me,_ okay? The worst that happens is that I _am_ full of it and Percy really _was_ right.” 

“And then the rapture happens, yes.” Fred joked humorlessly, leaning back on his palms. "Mate, feel your own chest already, you don’t even have a heartbeat.” 

Harry stopped dead. No pun intended. 

“You don’t have a heartbeat?” He echoed numbly. 

Fred rolled his eyes―honestly rolled his eyes! ―and said, as if he were talking to a five year old, said, “It’s the first thing I noticed when I got here, you twit. It’s...weird, not feeling it. I never realized how much I noticed it til it was gone. Here, look―” And then Fred placed his hand on Harry’s chest...and then froze. 

Harry knew just as well as Fred undoubtedly did now that _his_ heart was most certainly beating. 

“What…” Fred stared down at Harry’s chest, face pasty, and then slowly looked up, “In the _goddamn,_ Harry.”

Harry widened his eyes as if to display an exasperated _‘told you so’_ and Fred reared back. 

“You’re _alive?!”_

Harry threw his hands up. “YES. That’s what I’ve been trying to _tell you_ this _whole time!”_

Fred was sputtering now, looking Harry up and down frantically. “What the _fuc―_ you’re―-you _are_ alive! You’re― _what!?”_ And then he paused again, and then looked up at Harry wide-eyed. “Wait, so, you don’t―you don’t _really_ mean to tell me that there’s a chance in hell that you’re gonna bring me back from the dead?" His voice shook just as his head did. "That’s not _possible._ "

“Everything’s impossible til it isn’t.” Harry insisted, voice quiet and level. "We went to a fucking magic school. Just―get up. Come with me. He's waiting for you―he _needs_ you," He added softly, looking down at George again.

"...Why me?" Fred whispered suddenly, hand fisted in the back of George's shirt. "Why _me?”_

"You’re my _brother,_ you pillock. I need you and―” Oh, can’t be caught slacking. He tacked on quickly, “and s-so does your family. Come on, they're waiting."

“Harry, I _love you.”_ Fred burst out suddenly, and unwittingly, Harry said it right back. 

And it was so _laughably_ easy to tell him that, to tell him that he loved him, and Harry very suddenly, viscerally _hated_ himself for never saying it before. He vowed then and there to say it more, because...it mattered. It did. He’d say it every day, until his tongue and his teeth fell out, even. He gave Fred a minute to gather his bearings and stood himself, waiting patiently. 

Fred leaned over George, and Harry pretended not to see the short, familiar peck that he pressed onto George's temple. "Alright, fuck me, I guess I'm coming," Fred murmured, and then slid from the bed. "Take me home, then, Harry."

Harry held out his hand and gripped Fred’s firmly, and though he wasn’t consciously aware of what he was doing and felt a little foolish, it was as if the Plains knew what he was trying to do and let it happen. The room began to melt away into a blinding, glaring white. Harry tugged Fred back into the unfathomable, peaceful blackness of the Plains, and his heart skipped a beat as he heard, faintly, George's quiet, quavering whisper of "Fred?" before the dream left them entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: dude come on im bringing you back from the dead  
> Fred, a sane person: um  
> Fred: ?? no???  
> Harry: no i swear like IM alive and inexplicably in the afterlife with you and now im gonna yeet u back in ur body bro  
> Harry: Im NOT CRAZY  
> Fred: harry we're DEAD  
> Harry: NO we're NOT--actually, er, UR dead but IM not  
> Fred, palm over Harry's titty: you don't even have a heartbeat, look, there ain't shi--  
> Fred:  
> Fred:  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Harry, kicking his friends awake: so i just met death guys. offer me counsel or get banished to the shadow realm because what in the goddamn fuck  
> Ron: I--  
> Ron: um. okay. let's just go back to bed dude  
> Harry: NO YOU'RE NOT LISTENING  
> Harry: GET YOUR SOCKS OUT OF YOUR EARS AND YOUR ELBOW OUT OF MINE, I JUST MET DEATH AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO PROCEED  
> Hermione: harry pls lets go back to sleep its like 5am  
> Harry: OK U KNOW WHAT  
> Harry, summoning Death: WATCH THIS  
> Ron and Hermione:  
>   
> Death:  
> Death: this feels like a bad time


End file.
